


The Rubble Of Our Sins

by brainsfrittata



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Geographical Inaccuracies, M/M, Minor Character Death, Religion, Romance, might add other characters as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:58:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainsfrittata/pseuds/brainsfrittata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of two turbulent hearts as they drift away and collide together again seven years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I've been toying with the thought of this fanfiction for quite some time, and my brain finally produced enough word vomit to create chapter one! This is my first ever Kaisoo story but I'm not sure where I'm going with it, so please let me know if you like it? I don't think it's particularly good or interesting, and the topic is probably not most people's cup of tea... Anyway thank you all in advance for giving it a try :)))

The road to Jongin’s past is all pebbles and dirt. It’s a steep, winding line that cuts through fields of wheat and goes up, past the pine forests and straight into the heart of the rich green hills around Suncheon. Jongin remembers the last time he travelled this same road. He remembers it vividly, remembers how his insides were aching because of the uneven ground but not only. Every single bump and hole sent his heart up to his throat and his stomach down to his feet, and every single thought kept both in those uncomfortable places with ruthless determination. He didn’t want to feel better. He thought he had no right to feel better. But now, seven years later, things are finally starting to look different. Seven years later, Jongin rolls the window down and takes a deep, deep breath. It feels like his first real breath in ages, and it probably is.

“God, please. My ass is freezing.”

The crisp morning air that awakens Jongin’s lungs invades the car, evidently displeasing the driver. The slender hand that was resting on the gear stick goes up to a bush of ash blonde hair to tame a rogue strand, nudging a fancy pair of sunglasses up onto the bridge of a big flat nose in the process. Jongin huffs and turns to his not-so-subtly whining companion, rolling the window up but just halfway.

“Did you know that cold air keeps your skin toned and wonderful?” After earning an eyebrow raise, Jongin smiles placidly and sticks a hand out the window, grabbing the wind like he used to do when he was little. He turns again, facing the road ahead. “Bet you didn’t know that.”

He doesn’t see his friend’s smirk, but he hears the _‘sly fucker’_ that gets thrown at him. A curse escapes thin lips when the umpteenth bump in the road makes the car rumble and shake. Jongin kind of pities the city boy sitting by his side, kind of feels bad for making him embark on such a journey just out of goodness of heart.

“Sehun… Thank you. Really, for everything.”

A long, lazy sigh greets the thoughtful words. Sehun keeps one eye on the road and the other on the car radio, index finger expertly browsing through the stations that are starting to be affected by the poor reception of the area. Once he finds a decent sounding one, he spares a quick glance at Jongin and produces a tiny, proud smile.

“Eh. What would you do without me? Am I or am I not your best friend? Even though you’re leaving me all alone back home. And over at the shop.” There goes the smile, turning into a poor excuse of one. Dear old Sehun just can’t hide his emotions. Jongin’s turn to sigh. A soft one, followed by a little scoff.

“Come on, it’s not like I’m moving to another country… I’ll be like half an hour away from town…” He puts a light hand on Sehun’s right shoulder, trying to soothe his sensitive friend’s blues, but Sehun only makes a face and lets the subject drop, as he usually does when he’s out of counter-arguments or simply not willing to disclose any more of his thoughts. Jongin falls silent too, knowing it’s all talk in the end. They had already discussed the matter, and Sehun had offered his most heartfelt encouragement. Even helped him packing, if standing in the middle of the room while holding framed pictures close to his chest and reminiscing various episodes can be considered helping. Still, it’s completely normal to feel a bit sad. Jongin knows, and understands it. He feels it too. After five years or inhabiting the same space, working elbow-to-elbow and sharing practically everything, anyone with a bit of heart would be emotional upon parting. The suitcases and boxes holding Jongin’s belongings rattle in the trunk, as if reminding the two men of what’s to come.

-

The sun has been up for quite some time when Sehun’s old but trusty Kia crosses the narrow bridge that welcomes to the village of Mokchon. A whole new pang of nostalgia grips Jongin as the places of his teenage years parade before his eyes. The playground in front of the post office, with its colourful swings and slides that soon became too small for him, but were still suitable for late night escapes. Mr. Cho’s ramen shop, where he would spend evenings perched on a stool with his nose in a bowl and eyes trained on a spot on the counter as his shyness kept getting the best of him. The antique shop on the corner of the main road, destination of those few slow paced afternoons when there was nothing better to do than to snoop around brass jewellery and dusty pottery. Finally, his grandfather’s bookstore, home to almost all of his days: a magical, little place nestled between a minimarket and a coffee shop that wasn’t there seven years ago. Jongin’s heart constricts at the sight of the rusty shutters pulled down and the yellowed “for sale” sign that threatens to fall off them. Sehun stops the car on the other side of the road without turning the engine off. He wraps one arm around the backrest of Jongin’s seat and turns to him, raising his sunglasses on top of his head before nodding over at the shop.

“So… Here we are. How are you feeling?”

Jongin is not sure. The thought he has been mulling over for the past year is about to become reality, carrying all the subtle implications and unspoken fears along. He is used to all the yesterdays flashing before his eyes, but watching them in the safety of his and Sehun’s apartment is definitely easier than seeing them come alive right where it all started and consequently fell apart. Keeping in mind that he came back with a purpose, he swallows everything and gives Sehun a thumbs-up, throwing in a tight-lipped smile for good measure.

“Fine. I’m fine.” It sounds more like self-convincing than anything, but if his best friend notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he grabs Jongin’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Wanna do the honours?”

Not thirty seconds later, the “for sale” sign rests atop the car’s dashboard as it drives off. Sehun’s sunglasses are back on the bridge of his nose and he bobs his head to the sound of some song coming from the radio. Jongin’s mind plays a whole different tune, one he tries to ignore by staring at the green fields around them as the car ventures into yet another bumpy path. It’s a relatively short trip that ends ten minutes later, on the outskirts of the village, right in front of a rough looking two-story house. If seeing the bookstore again after seven years made Jongin’s heart ache, the sight that meets his eyes in this very moment cuts his breath off like a well-thrown punch to his guts. What used to be cream coloured walls are now crawling with mould, and on the wooden flooring of the veranda there are a couple of panels that look suspiciously rotten. Sehun parks the car in the driveway, where the once beautiful and blooming rose bushes resting on each side appear dry and bare, neglected as the rest of the garden. The weeping willow by the side of the house, which always shielded Jongin from the merciless sunrays of August, does justice to its name by looking as sad as the young man feels.

“Wow. For how long did you say your grandpa has been away?” Sehun exits the car slowly and pockets his sunglasses, staring at the miserable sight while heading over to the trunk.

“How long… He’s been in the retirement home since what, January? I guess he never told us the truth about his health, because there’s no way a house can turn into this in only a couple of months. And my father… That dumbass has been paying the bills for this place without even checking it…” Jongin shakes his head in disbelief and gets off the passenger seat to head over to the garage, slamming the car door with such force that Sehun winces. The latter notices the hint of anger lighting up Jongin’s face, but chooses to remain silent. He knows too well how his best friend feels about his father, knows how explosive his feelings are.

As Jongin draws near the garage doors with short calculated strides, trying to calm himself, he suddenly worries about the state of the old pickup truck he knows is inside. Given the state of the outside, God only knows what lies beneath. After some trouble with the keys, he manages to open the lock and take a peek inside. Much to his surprise, his grandfather’s steel blue Hyundai Porter doesn’t look as bad as he expected.

“Ah! A man’s pride indeed… You can always make time for you car. I feel your old man.” Sehun whistles right behind him and puts an arm around his shoulders. As they both look around the garage, Jongin spots a full gas tank sitting beside a shelf and thinks that Sehun might be right after all.

-

The early afternoon sun sees both men busy cleaning, at least the bare minimum to create a healthy environment to eat and sleep in. Jongin keeps telling Sehun that it’s okay, that he can go home, that it was more than enough that he offered to drive him there, but nothing comes out of it except an even more energetic and stubborn scrubbing from the latter. By the time they’re done, it only seems natural to try putting the pickup on the road and go do some grocery shopping. Jongin is not exactly the best cook but he’s still better than Sehun, so he quickly whips up a shopping list for a nice and simple dinner and vows to fix his best friend a tasty meal as thanks. Never one to turn down free food, Sehun agrees but demands to be the one driving. With a spring in both their steps, they make their way to the garage once again.

“This is surprisingly fun. I might get myself a Porter too.”

“You’re too fancy for it. City boy.” A playful slap resounds in the pickup, quickly followed by a snort. Jongin feels a bit better about the whole thing now that the house is relatively clean, and his ride fully working, and the painful memories kept at bay. They drive back to the village and this time he’s able to see the church’s bell tower, half hidden by the tall cypresses of the nearby cemetery. Feeling the fragile shell of happiness start to crack at the edges, he quickly looks away, cursing in his mind and hoping Sehun doesn’t notice. If he truly knew about Jongin’s thoughts, he would never let him stay. He would try to talk him out of moving, but Jongin needs to. He needs closure. He’s not sure of how to obtain it, but he’s more than willing to try and find out.

-

The minimarket cashier looks young enough to be a high school student. His smile is bright, eyes crinkling at the corner when he sees the two new customers enter. He greets them cheerfully with a clear voice, a little bow punctuating his words. Sehun replies with an equally lively _Yo_! and grabs a basket, almost immediately disappearing in the soft drinks aisle. Jongin is left there, idly wondering whatever happened to the funny lady that used to work here when he was younger. He loved her jokes, and she often gave him chocolate bars for free. Absent-mindedly and without focus, he reads the nametag on the cashier’s orange polo shirt. _Luhan? What a strange name._ He’s about to ask this Luhan kid about the lady, when he suddenly remembers about the shopping list in his back pocket, and about Sehun all alone in proximity all of those soft drinks. He startles out of his reverie and strides in the direction of said aisle, uncaring of the yellow sign that warns about the wet floor. Sure enough, he ends up slipping quite ungracefully, and sure enough, someone ends up right in the way of his fall, effectively breaking it. Jongin’s saviour ends up squished between him and the cereal shelf, a few boxes falling on the floor. The cashier kid rushes over immediately to make sure no one is injured and to check for damages to the boxes, and Jongin feels so embarrassed he wants to disappear. Face and ears red as a ripe tomato, he detaches himself from the person he was grabbing onto and makes to bow in apology, but stops in his tracks upon locking eyes with them. In front of him stands a man with big, big eyes that bring back a whole new set of memories. Eyes Jongin knew he was going to meet, sooner or later. Eyes that saw everything there was to see of him, both inside and outside. His heartbeat speeds up immediately and he does his best to stop the sheer surprise, the pure joy from showing on his face. The curious look he gets from the cashier tells him he definitely could have done better.

“Kyungsoo hyung?”

The man looks around Jongin’s age, maybe older. He’s not tall, but there’s a certain solemnity to his appearance that makes him look imposing nonetheless. He gapes, eyes almost bulging out, as he stands there between Jongin and the cereal shelf, unmoving. The shock doesn’t seem to leave his round face even as he speaks.

“Jongin. How…” The smooth, rich voice that flows out of his mouth makes Jongin feel like crying, because _finally_. A known melody, a familiar face has finally appeared in front of him in this godforsaken village. Yet, he was in no way prepared for this decisive encounter to happen so soon, and the strong wave of emotions that washes over him makes him uncharacteristically bold. Without even the slightest afterthought, he invades Kyungsoo’s personal space and envelops him in a timid embrace.

“It’s been so long, hyung.” _I missed you like crazy_ is what he means, and hopes to convey with the warmth of his touch. He purposely ignores the way Kyungsoo’s body feels distinctively different against his own, how he doesn’t seem to fit perfectly in his arms anymore. The other man stiffens up for a second, but it’s so subtle that Jongin would have missed it if he hadn’t been alert and eager to catch any kind of reaction. He has no time to panic though, because a small, breathy laugh reaches his ears as Kyungsoo tentatively hugs him back.

“Too long. How have you been?”

They break the hug at the same time and draw back, properly taking in each other’s appearance after so long. Kyungsoo looks at Jongin with those dark, deep eyes of his, unspoken words and maybe something else hidden behind his eyelashes. In return, Jongin looks at Kyungsoo, but with soft eyes just as he always did. He notices how good he still looks in his beloved all-black outfit, and he can’t stop himself from picking a piece of lint off the long coat that covers most of the man’s body, affectionately smoothing the fabric afterwards. Nothing much has changed, but somehow everything is different. It’s like the time that had stopped seven years before now finally starts flowing again, and Jongin is relieved. He has so much to say to his hyung, so much to talk about, but now is not the time. That Luhan kid looks at him funny, probably wondering what is his and Kyungsoo’s history, and soon enough Sehun comes over too.

“Oh, you found a childhood friend already?” Sehun looks genuinely curious and interested. Jongin facepalms in his mind, suddenly glad he never really mentioned Kyungsoo and whatever it was they had. When his best friend opens his mouth again to talk to the other man directly, Jongin jumps in.

“Yeah, actually! This is Kyungsoo, my… closest friend back when I was little. Kyungsoo, meet Sehun.” The two shake hands and Jongin hopes with all his heart that neither notices the significant pause his stupid brain just provided. He takes the chance to grab the basket from Sehun’s other hand, grateful it already contains enough for a quick, unpretentious dinner. He really doesn’t want to do this, but damage control is vital right now.

“Actually we should go, but I guess I’ll see you around ‘cause I just moved back here, into my old man’s house, you know? And I’m taking over the bookstore, so there’s also that…” He talks to Kyungsoo while pushing Sehun in the direction of the checkout, where Luhan has already taken place, all smiling and eager to do his job. Kyungsoo looks dumbstruck for a long moment, and Jongin makes a mental note to apologize and explain everything properly next time they meet.

“Yes, of course! We have so much to catch up with.” The smaller man finally snaps out of it and produces a polite smile as he follows them to the checkout. When Jongin eyes him quizzically, another small laugh escapes his lips.

“I’m done shopping too.”

“Oh, right! Of course…” _Wow, this is awkward._

Sehun tries to speak up but is silenced by a telling eyebrow raise, the one Jongin reserves especially for him, to signal he will elaborate later on. He knows they are going to have a long, long talk back at his grandfather’s house, _his_ house. Sehun just shrugs and starts putting their things on the belt. He winks at Jongin while holding up a big piece of meat for him to see, mouthing _my treat_ all proudly. Jongin doesn’t complain, just watches the meat as the belt takes it away, straight into Luhan’s expert hands. Then the lettuce, the soy sauce, a piece of cheese, a six-pack of beer, two carrots, some kimchi and a big bowl of fruit salad. Sehun even thought of dessert, how considerate. Lazily, he keeps on watching the belt even after their things are gone. A bag of potatoes suddenly comes into view, and when he realizes it belongs to Kyungsoo, who is right behind him, he shuffles over and past Sehun to go bag their groceries. He feels giddy all of a sudden, remembering his grandfather’s potato soup and how he and Kyungsoo would share it on the porch, because dinner outside somehow always tasted better. Or maybe it was because of the company. Anyway, he has to tell himself once again that right now is not the time to reminisce. Sehun is done paying and he’s shamelessly counting the change, a bad habit of his that started when the owner of his favourite candy store allegedly tried to rip him off many years before. Jongin is not too sure about it, but the way Sehun tells it is always funny as hell, so he lets him be and pretends to believe it. By the time it’s Kyungsoo’s turn to pay, which is relatively soon because he only bought the potatoes, Sehun is still standing there, about to pocket the change with a satisfied grin and a thumbs-up to the young, now blushing cashier. Jongin shakes his head and scoffs, thinking that his best friend will never change. They are both halfway out of the minimarket when something catches his ear.

“See you on Sunday, Father!” Luhan greets Kyungsoo with a big smile and a bow, and Kyungsoo simply nods and takes his bag, making eye contact with Jongin. Maybe intentionally, maybe not. There’s no way to tell and Jongin doesn’t even process it because that word sounds so surreal and out of place. _Father_. When did that happen? Yes, Kyungsoo often went to church when they were both kids, he was even in the choir, but becoming a priest? It all seems too far-fetched. He must have heard wrong. Or maybe not. _Is this real life?_ Jongin rakes his mind, trying to make sense of this new piece of knowledge. The thought slowly unfurls and he figures that the major grief they both experienced in the past broke Kyungsoo’s soul in a thousand pieces as it did his own, but it doesn’t help. It only makes him feel empty and bitter. And maybe even a bit jealous, because while Kyungsoo sought solace in the arms of God, Jongin was alone and unable to move on. It was not God’s love he was longing for. He had created a precarious card castle in his mind to try and give a meaning to what he had gone through, but only ended up deceiving himself, thinking that things might still be as they were, that maybe he could start again where he left off. _Father_. That silly, little word is enough to make everything crumble down on itself the very moment Jongin realizes what it truly means: Kyungsoo is no longer his, and never will be again.

He desperately tries to say something, anything, at least to be polite, but not a single word comes out. There’s only a frantic, crazy giggle that threatens to tumble out of his mouth. It’s all ridiculous. It’s all pointless. His face turns blank and his heart cold as steel. Kyungsoo looks troubled, or maybe it’s Jongin’s mind that paints him that way. While his coat opens a little as he pockets his wallet, eyes still on Jongin, the white square of a clerical collar peeks out almost mockingly. Jongin doesn’t register Sehun shaking his shoulder in an attempt to pull him out of his reverie, nor when he gently pushes him outside after having waved at Kyungsoo and Luhan. Just before the doors close, Sehun mumbles something about the village air being too clear and fresh for their brains, as to apologize for Jongin’s momentary daze. Once they’re safe on the sidewalk, he shoves him rather unceremoniously inside the pickup and takes off.

“What did just happen there? Are you okay?” Jongin has no answer. He just sits there, thinking about the places of his faded teenage years once again. The playground where he used to battle Kyungsoo for one last swing, the ramen shop where they spent their evenings and even had their first date, the antique shop where he wanted to buy cute, vintage couple rings as a surprise for Kyungsoo. Everything blurs to nothing as the pickup speeds home, dragging Jongin’s heart in the dust behind it.

-

Maybe he should tell him. Maybe he should just pour it all out and be done with it. Sehun has always been a good listener and he knows most of the story already, but would he judge him upon reading the last chapter? Jongin figures it’s worth a shot. He came back to look for closure, peace of mind, redemption even, and he might just find some in his best friend. Their time together stretches even after the slow, silent dinner they consume on the hefty mahogany table, and somewhere between the fruit salad and Sehun’s customary after-meal smoke, Jongin opens the dams. He talks and whispers and gets lost in the beats of his aching heart as it drums unyielding despite itself. Sure enough Sehun offers to stay the night, then to take him back to Suncheon, back to their small apartment and their smaller record store where everything was fine before today. He yells and finally tells the truth, saying he never really wanted Jongin to leave, that the thought of him all alone in this village of ghosts and painful memories has always been his biggest nightmare, and if he had doubts before he never voiced them because Jongin looked so happy he didn’t want to burst his bubble. _What about your insomnia, no way in hell I’m leaving you here._ But Jongin doesn’t want to go back. It’s here in Mokchon he belongs, here he wants to grow old. He didn’t come back for Kyungsoo, despite what Sehun says. He tries to convince him that yes, he knew he lived here, and that they were bound to meet one day or the other, but too much time had passed and too many things had happened, and most importantly their paths had been too long apart. Of one thing he’s sure, he’s not going back. Suncheon be damned, city life be damned, his father be damned. He’s not sixteen anymore, he has control over things now, he has the power to decide. No one is going to tear him apart from what he loves this time.

-

When Sehun finally leaves, at two in the morning and still not entirely sure about it, Jongin clears the table and grabs the last bottle of beer, heading out on the porch. He sits on the steps and makes a mental note to fix the floorboard first thing in the morning, then go buy some paint and brushes, new sheets and a nice fluffy pillow, maybe a new rocking chair to put outside, definitely some flower seeds and new gardening tools. One thing at a time, he’s going to make the house beautiful again. While he sips on his warm beer and listens to the crickets, a thought knocks on the back of his mind. He gets up and walks over to the weeping willow by the house, pulling out his cellphone to turn on the flashlight app. There’s a small hole carved at the base of the trunk, all covered in dirt and pebbles, and Jongin lights it up before reaching inside to retrieve a tiny steel box. He wipes it clean and takes it with him back to the porch to observe it carefully, inspecting for any changes or indications it had been opened since the last time he personally put it inside the tree. Satisfied upon finding none, he opens it. The yellowed piece of paper that rests inside brings him back to that one night seven years before, that hot, summer night when two young boys trusted the weeping willow with the secret they had just written down. Jongin doesn’t need to unfold the paper to know, doesn’t need to think hard to recall the pounding heartbeats and sweaty palms that marked that fateful moment. After one last, long look to the content of the box, he closes the lid and pockets it. The words are burnt in his memory and he recites them in his mind as he goes back inside to spend yet another sleepless night, the first one in his new home.

_“Kyungsoo and Jongin, forever.”_


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry for the two months delay!! truth be told i had half a mind to drop this, because as sudden as it came, my inspiration left me in the middle of nowhere... and i started thinking that people didn't like the story, so there was no point in going on, but somehow i managed to resurface and i kept writing. i have so many ideas for this fic, please let me know if you like it, leave a comment or something? thank you so much for sticking with me and with this mess :')
> 
> also, this is unbetaed and i am sorry in advance for any typos!!!

_Jongin is still angry when the familiar rustling on the lawn right underneath his window makes him sit up straight on the bed. His pillow is upside down, blankets thrown here and there but mostly on the floor, the rest of his room a mess. He doesn’t bother cleaning up, because whoever is climbing the unstable, creaky ladder up to his bedroom knows him and his outbursts all too well. So he waits, eyes on the open window, ears catching the steps as they draw near. A mop of straight, black hair finally pops into view, and the smile that comes right after that is enough to make all the annoyance in Jongin’s distressed heart subside. The person, a short, young boy, leaps over the windowsill and takes a long moment to look around._

_“Was it that bad?”_

_Jongin shrugs, looking around his room himself. It all seemed to make sense barely ten minutes ago, but now that the anger is gone, everything just looks stupid. He gets off the bed and starts picking up the upturned books, the pens and pencils, his precious wooden figurine and all of the stuff that he had sent flying to the floor. “You know how she is…” A hum of understanding comes from the other boy. Jongin looks at him from where he’s kneeling, a self-conscious little smile on his lips, “… and how I am.”_

_“’Course I do. You’re a landmine.” A broad grin marks the words as the boy decides to help by rearranging the blankets and the pillow to resemble a place one can actually sleep in._

_Jongin lets out a snort at the brand new nickname. “Ah, that’s what I am now? I thought we were at... What was it… Flower boy? Flower something…” He puts everything on the desk and joins the other by the bed, which now looks brand new. They bump shoulders and the boy seems awfully amused by the whole exchange. He’s not at all irked by the height difference, and while he stares up at Jongin, the latter can’t help feeling stared down instead._

_“Wallflower, Jongin. But that was last week, when you desperately wanted to go to Dongwoon’s party yet ended up spending the whole evening sitting on the couch because you realized a bit too late that apart from the host, I was the only one you knew there. Now you are a landmine, because a simple scolding from your mom is enough to make you want to trash your room, and before you say anything, yes, I do know that she cares a lot about school and a bad grade is not easily accepted.” Jongin puts on an exaggerated pout and is about to retort, but the boy is quicker. His fingers dance all the way down to Jongin’s left hand and he takes it in his own, a content yet almost inaudible sigh leaving his lips. “Good thing I’m around to balance you out.”_

_And Jongin does feel well balanced. His clammy hand is wrapped in warm comfort and his heart is finally pacified, but before the mind starts asking question about how easily everything falls into place in the presence of his best friend, Jongin decides that ignorance is bliss, and as a coy smile blooms on his flushed face, he thinks that he’d like to stay like this for a long, long time. Just the two of them, hand in hand, eyes cast down, close and closer, not a word needed._

_When the smaller boy wraps his free hand around Jongin’s neck to gently pull him down, time stops purely out of kindness._

_When their lips meet in a chaste kiss, their first one, it tastes of sweet, fresh dew._

_Too stunned and bewildered, Jongin doesn’t even remember to close his eyes._

-

Memories are all that’s left of the past and Jongin wishes he had a special switch for the bittersweet ones. That way, he could easily forget that Kyungsoo used to climb up the same window he is staring at right now. The ladder is long gone, but the heartache and the fleeting thoughts are definitely not. They linger, and linger, and he is forced to get out of bed and go down to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. Or vodka, if he can find any. It wasn’t very clever of him to choose his old bedroom, he knows that, but at the same time it seemed like the only logic option. When he opened the door just half an hour ago, he noticed right away that his grandfather had left everything as it was. His favourite books, his videogames, his wooden figurine, his green television, all of his childhood was still in that room. It was as if he had never left.

“Ah-ha… There you are…” After some rummaging inside the kitchen cabinets, where he knows his old man used to keep his stash, he manages to find half a bottle of what seems to be hard liquor. The label is peeled off though, so he can’t be sure. He unscrews the cork and takes a whiff, appreciating how the potent smell instantly makes his nose sting. _This will do._ With a new companion by his side, he decides to take another tour of the house, because why not. Maybe the bottle will provide him with some clarity.

He skips the kitchen and starts from the living room. One sip, this is easy. He didn’t spend much time here, but the place still carries a few memories. Like that time when his grandpa caught him stuffing candy wrappers between the couch cushions. Or when he spilled half his orange juice on the coffee table and his mom went ballistic. A big sip, with eyes squeezed shut. Or that time he jumped on the couch with Kyungsoo and they ended up breaking a couple of springs. _Oh_. An even more generous sip. He slides his fingers on the dark wood of the bookcase as he strolls over to the right corner of the room, where a small table is crowded with photos and memorabilia. Jongin likes to believe he is not sentimental, that life has turned him into a seasoned cynic, that at the ripe age of 23 one is simply not allowed to wallow in daydreams anymore, but certain pictures catch his gaze and the distinctive feeling of bile travelling up from his stomach convinces him to steer away from the dusty table.

He reaches the door that leads to the backyard and quickly opens it. He figures it can’t hurt to get some fresh night air, and instead of following the stone path his grandfather had so carefully laid down many years earlier, he steps down directly into the cold dirt. Little blades of grass fill the space between his toes, making him really glad he decided to leave the slippers by the bed before coming down. Being one with nature is such a refreshing feeling that Jongin might just sleep in the garden tonight. He actually contemplates the idea for a moment, eyeing the little gazebo in the corner that his grandfather personally designed and consequently built, but in the end a loud sigh and a sip of liquor accompany him back inside the house to continue the tour.

He stops by the small bathroom on the ground floor to clean his feet before moving on, up the stairs. The first room he finds in front of him is the main bathroom.  The turquoise tiles and big bathtub have always been a nice sight for Jongin. He loved the colour, still does. No sips required because what the hell must have happened in a bathroom that needs to be remembered, right? Wrong. Kyungsoo and Jongin dyed each other’s hair while sitting on that bathtub one day. Kyungsoo loved the turquoise too. Two sips.

The alcohol finally appears to affect Jongin as his vision starts to blur, but he snorts out loud and just goes on, opening the first door on the right after the bathroom. It leads straight into his grandfather’s bedroom, and he is pleased that the peculiar smell of mothballs and wood still lingers. Jongin turns on the light without stepping inside, and he can see that everything is covered in a thick layer of dust, a grey shroud that conceals yet protects. Even from the doorway where he’s standing, he’s able to spot his old man’s beloved collection of hand-carved wooden mushrooms resting on the big dresser. He turns the light back off as he closes the door, unsure whether to clean the room tomorrow or simply leave it as it is, but the thought doesn’t form entirely because he suddenly remembers what’s behind the door on his left. This is when the bile returns, so strong and vicious that no amount of liquor can hold it down this time. The run to the bathroom is short and it ends with Jongin retching desperately into the sink, the poison he so gladly gulped down being expelled at last, together with a few shards of his broken heart.

By the time he reaches his own bedroom with staggering, uncertain feet, it’s almost four in the morning. The ghost of sixteen-year-old Kyungsoo sits on the windowsill, but Jongin ignores it and lets himself fall on the bed, closing his eyes in hope of getting at least a couple of hours of sleep. Even if it’s agitated and nightmare-ridden, he’s willing to take it.

-

Vigorous raps on the front door and some incoherent yelling greet Jongin at exactly half past seven, effectively waking him up and out of a dreamless slumber with a start. He gets dressed in record time despite the pounding headache and almost trips down the stairs in the haste of going to see whom the evidently agitated visitor might be.

“Where is grandpa Lee? Who are you??” A young man with chestnut hair and a striped t-shirt underneath dark denim overalls stands on the veranda, looking on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His droopy eyes are wide open in terrified wonder and his small, slender hands can’t seem to find purpose as they flail around in front of him, a bony index finger pointing straight at Jongin’s face. “And what the hell happened to the house??”

Mornings have never been kind to Jongin. No amounts of strong coffee or shrieking alarm clocks or even Sehun’s super noisy morning routine can ever help an insomniac, and now that he’s running on a little more than three hours of sleep (still the most sleep he’s had in almost two months) and a merciless headache, Jongin hardly registers what the stranger is saying. The only thing he catches is that he knows his grandpa, so he thinks of letting him in and maybe get him to sit down and drink a cup of herbal tea or something. Anything to make him stop squawking.

“Hey, hey, calm down! Everything’s fine, it’s fine. My name is Jongin and I’m Mr. Lee’s nephew. I live here now. Come inside, I can explain everything.” In hopes that what he thinks is a coherent little speech didn’t come out as garbled and mumbled as he heard it in his own ears, Jongin rubs the sticky remnants of sleep out of his eyes and motions the young man inside. The latter doesn’t move though, face blanching and mouth dropping open in an exaggerated gape of surprise.

“You’re Jongin? _The_ Jongin?”

And before Jongin can even form a thought let alone an answer, a quirk of an eyebrow momentarily answering for him, the man practically lights up and moves forward, tripping over the broken panels of the veranda without even noticing. He embraces Jongin as if he were a long-lost relative, hands patting his back and a hearty chuckle filling the space all around them.

“Oh my God! Grandpa Lee talked so much about you… I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you!!”

Jongin blames it all on the liquor. The headache and the exceptionally peculiar stranger alike don’t seem to have any intention to loosen their grip, and just as he starts believing that he’s probably still sleeping and thus dreaming the whole thing, the young man breaks the hug. Instead of the wide smile that one could expect after such a happy outburst, a sad frown and something akin to worry paint his face.

“Wait… If you’re here, where’s grandpa Lee? Does it mean-”

Jongin shakes his head and instantly regrets it. His brain feels like mush sloshing around in his skull and he seriously can’t deal with the emotionally unstable stranger anymore. “Please, just… Just come in and I’ll explain.”

-

Ten minutes later Jongin finds himself sitting at the kitchen table with a tall glass of some homemade hangover remedy the stranger so kindly put together and the notion that said man is, or used to be, a close friend of his grandfather’s. It turns out that Baekhyun, this appears to be his name, works in the coffee shop just next to the bookstore; that one coffee shop that wasn’t there seven years before, having been opened a couple of years after Jongin had left the village. Baekhyun would come to pick up Mr. Lee every morning at half past seven and together they would go to work, opening their respective shops with the promise of seeing each other again for a quick coffee break in a few hours. One day in mid-December last year, Baekhyun’s boss decided to send him over to a newly opened branch in another town to help with the set-up, and the young man had been equally stoked and heartbroken, because what was a great opportunity for his career also meant not seeing Mr. Lee for months. He had come to love the old man as if he were his own grandfather, and at this point of the story Jongin learns that Baekhyun was brought up by a really strict and distrustful aunt in a little town not too far from Mokchon, and that he ran away one day to never go back again. He ended up living with friends and as soon as he was old enough to work, he landed a position at the coffee shop. Despite being young and frisky, he loved his job and excelled at it; he even managed to rent a minuscule but cozy studio apartment just a five-minute walk from the shop. Then, after almost five years of hard work, the long awaited promotion. Three months in at the new branch, though, and Baekhyun longed to go back to Mokchon. He missed his friends, the slow-paced life of the small village, and most of all he missed Mr. Lee. Jongin’s heart constricts at this, and guilt booms loudly in his ribcage because he realizes just how lonely his grandfather must had been. He doesn’t say this out loud, of course, but the young man in front of him seems to catch his thoughts.

“Grandpa Lee talked about you like all the time... He always went on about young Jongin, his only nephew, the light of his eyes…” Baekhyun chews on his bottom lip and his eyes scan Jongin’s face in dejected understanding, flashing such warmth that Jongin briefly wonders if he knows more than he’s supposed to. Somehow he gets an answer when Baekhyun leans over the table to continue, lowering his voice to a whisper as if they weren’t the only two people in the kitchen. “I don’t blame you, Jongin. I just can’t bring myself to. And neither did grandpa. He had nothing but deep-rooted love for you. With all that happened…” He waves his hand in dismissal with a grimace and gulps down the last drop of his herbal tea, ignoring Jongin’s shocked expression.

“Despite the past,” he carries on, elbows on the table and hands clasped together in front of his pointed chin, “he wasn’t an unhappy man. I can assure you, he was at peace. Still, I am so sorry to hear that he decided to move into the retirement home… And leave this beautiful house! Maybe if I hadn’t accepted the job… I can’t help thinking it’s my fault, you know? I left him alone…”

_It’s mine really, I was the one who left him,_ are the words that Jongin wants to say. He nods faintly, half listening to Baekhyun as he tells the last bit of the story. Apparently he had told his boss he wanted to come back to the shop a week ago, and after all the preparations and stuff, he arrived home yesterday night completely spent and so exhausted he jumped into bed without even undressing. “And the rest is history…” He finishes off with a forlorn smile and gets up from the chair to put his cup in the sink.

Maybe it’s too much too soon, because all the information Jongin just absorbed in this unexpected little encounter is now a thorny bundle stinging its way through his mind, and he honestly has no idea what to do with it. This goes past the hangover, the early morning and the insomnia. This is Jongin being slapped in the face by his own guilt and regret, and by the looks of it he guesses it’s going to be a long way to redemption.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Baekhyun’s car, the upbeat tune belting out from the speakers almost drowning out Baekhyun’s loud voice as he blabbers on about the delicious cupcakes they serve over at the coffee shop. Jongin doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s not even remotely hungry.

-

The fleeting thought that coffee shops aren’t supposed to be this colourful, at least not in his book, crosses Jongin’s mind as he sits down at one of the round tables of Dolceamaro. Baekhyun almost jumps behind the counter to crush a tiny barista with a mop of curly hair in a really tight hug, and Jongin figures it’s one of his old co-workers he had to leave behind and most likely just saw again for the first time in two months. They start to chatter right away at an impressive volume, and soon enough they disappear behind the staff-only door. Just like that, Jongin is left alone in the middle of vibrant tangerine armchairs, warm magenta seats and bright white tabletops. He looks around and notices that there’s only one other customer in the shop, a middle-aged man perched on a stool on the other side of the room who seems to be completely absorbed by the newspaper and a tall glass of black coffee. Jongin squints lazily at the menu that’s scrawled on the blackboard wall behind the counter and he suddenly remembers that his plans for the morning definitely didn’t include lounging around in a boldly furnished coffee shop. He’s half set on apologizing his way out and more than ready to walk back home, but the cheerful jingle of the wind chimes on the door grabs his attention and makes him turn his head towards the entrance of the shop.

He can’t say if it’s because of the gust of chilling wind that the customer just brought inside with him, or because of the simple fact that he knows that long, black coat all too well, either way his blood freezes and then thaws and his heart starts doing a strange dance inside his ribcage. This time the clerical collar is clearly visible as Kyungsoo strolls inside, rubbing his gloved hands together and steps stuttering when he spots Jongin half sitting on the tangerine armchair nearest to the counter.

“Oh, Jongin! Good morning… I definitely didn’t expect to see you here.” he inches closer with a seemingly firmer step and nods in greeting as he pockets his gloves, sounding a bit out of breath, “I was going to stop by the bookstore after coffee, actually. Can I sit here?”

Trying to flash his friendliest smile, Jongin nods back and holds on to the belief that dealing with Kyungsoo will get easier with time.

“’Morning. Yeah, please do…” he replies in a much lower voice than intended. Kyungsoo takes a seat across from him and shimmies out of his coat, folding it neatly in half and placing it on the backrest of the armchair. He turns around and crosses his hands on the table, looking at Jongin with a mixture of curiosity and hesitation, as if he’s waiting for some explanation or simply thinking about the right thing to say. Once again, Jongin doesn’t seem to be ready for the deep talk he feels they need to have, so he decides to play it safe. “You know… It’s funny how I ended up in this place. I was supposed to go shopping for the house, but the guy who works- well, worked here, showed up earlier this morning and almost had a heart attack because my grandpa wasn’t there… He said he used to drive him to work, that they were friends? He came back yesterday so he had no idea-”

“Ah, Baekhyun? So he’s back! I knew he wouldn’t last long… He seems to be friends with half the world, it’s pretty much his thing.” There it is. The fond smile that turns Kyungsoo’s mouth in a heart-shaped wonder, the one that Jongin missed so much. “It’s true though, your grandpa loved this shop.” And there it goes. Gone in a fraction of a second, flashing on his face like a bolt of lightning in the summer sky. A deep, sorrowful frown takes its place. “He didn’t seem too keen on the idea of moving out of that old house. How is he holding up?”

Jongin is ashamed to answer he doesn’t really know. He could say he still hasn’t found the time to go visit him because he’s been awfully busy with all the moving and the planning, but it would be a lie, and Kyungsoo would know it too. He tries not to picture his grandpa talking, maybe even confessing, to the young priest. He remembers Baekhyun telling him he didn’t blame him for leaving the village, but does Kyungsoo? Is he angry with him because he left without a word, on that hot summer morning seven years ago? Left his grandpa, left Kyungsoo himself? And also, does Baekhyun really know everything about what happened?

As if on cue, the chatty barista appears behind the counter with a tray of chocolate chip cupcakes and greets Kyungsoo with a loud cheer, immediately rushing over to his workstation to brew him a nice cup of his favourite espresso macchiato. Kyungsoo greets him back but keeps his attention on Jongin, quietly repeating the question about Mr. Lee’s well being in his new home.

“Well I guess he feels better taken care of… Surely less lonely…” Jongin replies in a hush, eyes cast down at his hands in his lap. The heavy, pungent smell of the freshly ground beans that is starting to fill the shop overpowers him and makes him nauseous all of a sudden. “Hyung, can we… Can we talk later? If you’re not busy, of course. I’m not feeling very well.” He makes to stand up and is puzzled upon seeing Kyungsoo follow suit, a stern expression on his features as he grabs his coat from the armchair and approaches the counter.

“Baek, can you make it to go, please?”

“Uh? Oh, right away! Jongin, come here, take this cupcake. Didn’t I tell you earlier that our baker is the best around? You absolutely have to try it. It’s on the house!”

Jongin pads over and accepts the sweet treat from Baekhyun’s hands, making an effort to thank him and smile despite feeling on the verge of puking. He holds the carefully (and admittedly cutely) wrapped cupcake close to his chest as Kyungsoo pays for his coffee and bids the barista a good day, promising to catch up with him later. Something akin to sheer curiosity, or even nosiness, appears on Baekhyun’s face when Jongin says goodbye as well, but he doesn’t stop to pinpoint it because there are still a million questions whirling in his head, and he can’t wait to get out of there.

The cold air that slaps his face just as they exit the shop feels incredibly refreshing, prompting a sigh of relief out of him that might be too large to hide. Without a word, Kyungsoo walks over to a light blue bicycle that has been chained to a lamppost, and Jongin’s heart stutters in recognition. That’s exactly the same bicycle that had carried Kyungsoo, and sometimes the both of them, around the village when they were younger. He feels a huge wave of nostalgia lapping at his heart.

“You still have it…”

“This? Of course, it’s still perfectly functioning. And not to mention it helps me keep healthy.”

Kyungsoo finishes his coffee in about ten seconds. He turns to Jongin and tips his chin toward the road ahead.

“Let’s go, I’ll walk you home.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... yeah. you probably thought i abandoned this, and i can't say i didn't. i left the fandom last year and never really got back. my heart ached for this story, because i hate leaving things unfinished. i kept on jotting down bits of plot, flashes of what could happen, pieces of dialogue and so on, in hopes of one day finding my way back to this little world i created. next thing i know, i feel like writing again. i wrote this chapter in two days. i dont even know if it fits, because it's not easy to pick up the threads after one year and a half. so many things have changed... anyway, enough with the chitchat. please let me know what you think of this. even a single comment can make a difference for a writer. thank you so much for sticking with me, and i am so, SO sorry for the monstrous delay.  
> this is unbetaed as usual, please inform me if you find any typos!

Eyes downcast and cupcake almost finished, Jongin listens to the crisp sound of the bicycle wheels as they roll on the dirt. It’s an old sound, one that speaks to him of midsummer afternoons on dusty paths with an aching butt but a full heart, of two young boys huddled together and laughing at each other, of the illusion of Kyungsoo’s arms embracing him while gripping the handlebars. The young priest walks by his side, oblivious of his wistful thoughts, but when Jongin risks stealing a look over at his face, he finds him looking down as well. Could he be thinking about the same things? Do those memories of a past long gone still manage to steal his breath away too? 

A couple of minutes must have passed since they left the coffee shop, and yet not a single word has been spoken. Between them only the sound of the bicycle and the morning wind travelling through the leaves of the trees nearby. Jongin feels burdened by the thick silence, but right when he’s about to crack a joke or two, maybe talk about how good the cupcake tasted, Kyungsoo speaks.

“How are you? I mean really, not in the polite ‘fine-thank-you-and-you’ way.” 

Their already slow pace almost comes to a stop just in front of the path that leads to the church, which would make Jongin laugh out loud if he wasn’t so busy trying to swallow back his heart together with the last piece of cupcake. Kyungsoo looks at him, almost with concern, as he waits for an answer, and this time Jongin knows he can’t simply brush it all off with a shrug. This time, Kyungsoo’s marble eyes have locked his own and there’s no Sehun or cereal boxes or stinky coffee that can help him escape.

“I…” Jongin can feel his nerves shaking. Kyungsoo waits, both hands on the handlebars, patient as ever. “… I’m not fine, Soo. Thing is, I don’t even know where to start.”

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and keeps it in for a second, then slowly puffs it out. “Okay.” He lowers his gaze to the ground once again, pulling his lips together as he nods in silent understanding. There’s a slight frown on his face, one that Jongin knows. It means he’s troubled. “How about from the beginning?”

And where is the beginning, Jongin asks himself. Just _when_ did this all start? Sure, he could pinpoint a certain day on a timeline, or on the crumpled page torn from a calendar. After all, what had his life been like for the past seven years, if not endless days of counting and recounting, hoping for some clarity and peace of mind to reach his doorstep, so he could just open the door and let it all in? Nothing ever came. All he could think about was that morning.

That hot summer morning with the scorching sun that filtered through the open car window and landed straight on his shorts-clad thighs, which were already sweaty and sticky because of the leather seat. His father, quiet and imperturbable as ever in all his solemn haughtiness, drove fast, past places and faces he probably wished he didn’t know and hoped he could forget quickly, oblivious of the rage and bad thoughts that were building up inside his sixteen-year-old son, who sat beside him with next to no more tears to cry. Upon climbing inside the black sedan earlier that day, after a last kiss from his misty-eyed grandfather, Jongin’s life had finally turned to rubble. That had been the finishing blow to an already crumbling mess.

Jongin pushes the memory as far back as his mind allows, then tries his best to concentrate on Kyungsoo’s question. Instead of working to put what he’s feeling into words, though, his brain conjures one big question that now sits on the tip of his too dry tongue, one that he needs to blurt out before he goes crazy.

“Are you mad at me?” Jongin utters it quietly, with purpose, but he doesn’t dare to look at Kyungsoo’s reaction. He keeps his eyes on the light blue bicycle, occasionally letting them wander to the young priest’s shoes, or the immaculate pathway that leads to the church. When he can’t take the other man’s silence anymore, he forces himself to look up and at him.

Now, if someone asked Jongin to rank Kyungsoo’s features, he would definitely have a hard time. What would be more beautiful, his big doe eyes that could give the deepest ocean a run for its money, or his mouth, with those plush, heart-shaped lips that open the heavens whenever they smile? Or maybe his face in its entirety, so perfect and gorgeous and the last thing Jongin sees in his mind every damn night, which fills him with such longing he can’t hope to fall asleep afterwards. That same face now looks so unreadable, so hopelessly foreign that Jongin’s already battered heart breaks a little more.

He looks away with a dejected sigh, just seconds before he can notice the slight shift in Kyungsoo’s expression, and the bell tower of the Sacred Heart comes into his view. The tall, white pillar stands out proudly against the blue sky, and for a moment Jongin thinks that Kyungsoo will invite him inside and sit him down for a nice, long talk, filled with that same religious crap about forgiveness they had to put up with at Sunday school. Or better, that _he_ had to put up with. It’s evident that Kyungsoo embraced that philosophy to the fullest and made it his life, Jongin notes with a tinge of bitterness. 

The young priest clears his throat, effectively regaining Jongin’s full attention. The ghost of a smile paints his lips as he motions for them to keep on walking. Jongin follows, but doesn’t understand. The bicycle resumes its crackling on the gravel.

“I won’t lie to you, Jongin. I was mad, for a brief time.”

Jongin almost trips on a pebble, too engrossed in looking for some kind of emotion on Kyungsoo’s face as he speaks. His greatest fear had reason to haunt him, then. The older man really had been angry after Jongin had been forced to leave Mokchon. He can feel his nerves shaking once again, agitation rising to his lungs as they struggle to work properly.

“Kyungsoo, you know that… My dad…” Words don’t come easily. He shoves his hands down his pockets to prevent them from flailing around, shoulders hunched forwards and head twisted towards Kyungsoo, again, always.

“I know, Jongin, I know everything. It was not your fault. Not your decision.” Kyungsoo’s voice is somber, his words measured, and Jongin figures this is what it’s like to hear one of his sermons. This is how Kyungsoo must speak to his congregation every Sunday, or to anyone who needs to confess his sins at any time of day. Jongin thinks back to when he had the privilege to have Kyungsoo all to himself, back to the days when the older man was just a boy, free to speak and laugh and kiss as he pleased.

“You know I never would have left you, Soo.” It comes out more like a whisper than anything. It’s just breath, a puff of air that escapes Jongin’s lips and evaporates between them, light and bittersweet. The intake of breath that Kyungsoo takes in response is just as imperceptible, but at the same time much louder. Jongin only misses it because of the deafening heartbeat that thumps in his ears. “That asshole came down one day and put me inside his car, just like that, I mean I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t-”

“Jongin…” 

“Yeah, I know you disapprove of my word choice, Soo, but he’s just that. A big, old asshole.” Jongin kicks a little stone off the path to punctuate his rant. There’s a small, weary sigh coming from his right, one that reminds him of all the times when Kyungsoo used to shake his head at him after one his outbursts.

“He was grieving, Jongin. We all have our own ways to deal with pain, you know that.”

The young priest sounds just like one, Jongin thinks. And he hates it. He hates all that comes with being accepting, always turning the other cheek, always forgiving and forgetting and putting oneself in “God’s hands”. His rage burns fiercely and dangerously and it demands a way out, careless of what might happen once it’s in the open. He stops in his tracks and turns to fully face Kyungsoo, prompting the latter to stop as well. They are on the side of the road that leads to the chestnut forest where they went to hide from the rest of the world, and past memories of stolen kisses and featherlike touches crowd inside Jongin’s mind, sending it into overdrive. 

“How can you be so fucking chill about it, hyung? He tore me away from everything I ever knew and loved, how can you call that grieving? He never asked me what _I_ wanted!” Jongin’s hands feel heavy on his chest as he pats it for emphasis, but somehow Kyungsoo’s eyes manage to feel heavier when they set on his own. There’s concern, as there always is, but also something else. Something foreign. It’s an unnamed flicker deep inside his pupils, yet it does nothing to faze Jongin. If anything, it just spurs him on.

“What if I wanted to stay with grandpa, huh? What if I wanted to stay here, with you? Soo, he didn’t give a shit about that! And he certainly didn’t give a shit about mom, at least not before she ended up dead in a fucking ditch!”

Jongin doesn’t even register the last of his thoughts before putting it into words. It just happens. Like a storm in the middle of July, with hail the size of baseballs that destroys everything on its path. Like a vicious, open-handed slap to the face by the person you love most in the world. Jongin can feel his eyes filling with tears, and he does nothing to stop them from flowing. He just hides his face in his hands and turns around, giving his back to Kyungsoo. The loud sobs that shake his body travel far through the forest, up to the highest treetop and down to the deepest root. There’s a rattle behind him, something that sounds like metal against the ground, and next thing he knows there’s a warm palm being pressed on his back. Kyungsoo’s other hand comes up to stroke his arm, his touch soft and soothing. A bout of affection, for old times’ sake, or merely a calming gesture out of Christian compassion, whatever it is, Jongin is more than willing to take it. He turns around and buries his head in Kyungsoo’s neck, hands bunching the soft fabric on his chest.

“It’s okay, Jongin. I’m here. I’m here with you.” Softly, Kyungsoo speaks to him as if he was a boy again. Gently, with silken words woven from his sweet, sweet mouth, with no complaint or judgement, he holds him through the sobbing.

“What- what ‘bout us, Soo…? Our grieving, our… I couldn’t… I don’t-” Jongin’s broken voice struggles to come out, and Kyungsoo shushes him softly, telling him that everything is fine, he can let it all out now.

“I’ve got you, Jongin. I’m here.”

-

_Jongin loves nature. He loves staying out in the open, barefoot and free, be it for a minute or a whole day. Climbing trees, running through fields, counting stars, studying, sleeping, anything. To him, things seem so much more enjoyable when they happen outdoors. Being stuck inside makes him jittery and gloomy, so he escapes every time he’s able to.  
_

_But right now he can’t._

_Even though the August sun calls to him, and the hot air promises to turn cool upon caressing his cheek once he’s outside, Jongin can’t stand up from the pew he’s sitting on. All of a sudden, the harsh reality of why he’s there hits him square in the face. He remembers now. There’s a casket in front of him, and the priest is sprinkling it with Holy Water. Does it mean he’s done? Jongin doesn’t know. He never liked going to church. The pungent smell of incense reaches his nose and he drops his head low, trying to hold his breath. There are tears in his eyes, on his shirt, on his trousers, everywhere. Has he been crying all along? His grandfather sniffles somewhere on his left. His big, wrinkled hands come into view as they take hold of Jongin’s. He’s not alone._

_People around him get up at some point. Some men approach the casket where his mother lies, and Jongin doesn’t know where he finds the strength to haul himself up from the cold, hard pew. He feels drained, dry and barren like the desert earth, but he needs to follow them. He needs to be with his mother. When he turns around to follow the casket down the aisle and out of the church, he sees Kyungsoo doing the same from the other side. Oh, right. Kyungsoo is there too. Of course he is. Just like Jongin was there yesterday morning, in the exact same place, when it was Kyungsoo’s mother lying there in front of them. And just like yesterday morning, the two boys walk side by side. Hands close, but not touching._

_The world outside seems less vibrant when Jongin steps out of the church. He shields his eyes with a shaky hand, feeling faint for a long moment before Kyungsoo pulls him close with an arm around his shoulders. A choking sob racks Jongin’s body, and he wants nothing more than to go home, fall asleep and wake up to find that all of this was simply a really bad dream. What he wouldn’t give to turn back time and stop his mother from picking up her best friend to go to Suncheon on a whim, stop her from driving all the way to their untimely death by the hands of that drunk driver. What he wouldn’t give to have her back, to tell her he loves her._

_The sweltering wind carries a whimper to his ears, and it takes him some time to realize that it’s coming from Kyungsoo. His best friend has always been quiet and measured in every single thing he does, and crying is no exception. Jongin sees the grief on his beautiful face, but no harsh sounds come out of his mouth. They look at each other, broken and undone as they are, and Jongin wonders what will be of them now. Now that death has taken both their mothers, now that nothing will ever be the same again._

-

Kyungsoo waits for Jongin to calm down a bit, and when it happens, he loads him on his bicycle (despite the latter’s half-hearted protests of not being thirteen anymore). _We’ll get home sooner this way_ , he says. Jongin still feels a bit raw from his emotional outburst, and having Kyungsoo’s practically all around him doesn’t exactly help his heart to settle, no matter how comfortable and safe he feels.

The journey is silent and uneventful. It really takes them a short while to reach Jongin’s home, even with the slow pace Kyungsoo adopts. They stop in the driveway, but neither makes to get off. Jongin dares to turn his head to look at the older man, and he sees that he’s looking at the old, musty house with a wistful smile on his face.

“I haven’t been around here for a while.” Nostalgia mixes with sadness on Kyungsoo’s stern features, ghosts and shadows of their shared past clouding his otherwise clear eyes.

“There’s so much that needs to be done.” Jongin mumbles, scratching his cheek as he shifts to look at the house himself. “A new paint job, for starters.”

Kyungsoo hums in agreement. Seeing no movement coming from behind him, Jongin decides to get off the old bicycle, but at that exact moment the young priest resumes pedalling, slowly but steadily, to reach the steps. Jongin scrambles a bit to ensure he doesn’t land on his ass, clawing at Kyungsoo’s arms to gain a bit of balance. His actions are met by a chuckle, then a soft ‘ _sorry about that’_ that he promptly waves off with a shake of his head.

“Um… there are a couple of rotten panels there.” Jongin tries to ignore his flushing face as he points to the veranda. “And the garden needs serious tending too.”

“Well, you certainly have your hands full here.” There’s a slight lilt to Kyungsoo’s voice, a smile that creeps its way into his words. Jongin can’t see it, but it’s there for him to hear.

“Yeah, I want to fix a lot of things.”

They get off the bicycle at last, and if Kyungsoo catches the silent implication lacing his words, he doesn’t comment on it. Jongin guides him inside and offers him a drink, to thank him for having taken him home. The young priest gladly accepts, settling for some water when Jongin bashfully informs him that he still hasn’t properly replenished the fridge, let alone the pantry.

As Jongin fills two glasses with tap water, Kyungsoo takes his time to look around the living room. Unknowingly, he retraces the steps that Jongin had taken just the night before. Starting from the bookcase, where he lets his finger slide on the spine of an old cookbook, then moving on to the multitude of pictures that rest atop the small table in the corner. A certain one catches his attention, and he carefully plucks it from the others.

After some fumbling, Jongin manages to set the glasses on the table and turns around to look for Kyungsoo, immediately spotting him by the pictures. He bites his lower lip, pondering for a second, then pads closer to the older man, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, as if trying to retreat into himself. He just can’t help it.

His heartbeat catches in a shallow breath at the sight of the framed photo in Kyungsoo’s hand. It’s them. It’s them, sitting under the weeping willow, a book on Kyungsoo’s bare knees and a plate of honeycakes on Jongin’s. They don’t seem to be aware of the camera, apparently too engrossed in the book to care about their surroundings. They really were, because Jongin remembers the shutter of his grandfather’s Polaroid clicking loudly in the silence of the yard, but not him approaching them. Kyungsoo was reading a story and he was listening to his velvety voice as it carried the words to his ears. After the first picture, they asked his grandfather to take another one, and this time they looked straight into the camera with wide, toothy smiles. Kyungsoo had thrown an arm around Jongin’s shoulders and Jongin had raised a peace sign. That second picture is safe upstairs, in a box buried deep inside Jongin’s wardrobe. The old man had insisted on framing the first one, for reasons he never really disclosed. Or maybe it was Jongin that never really understood, because right now, after years, with new eyes, he sees it. The picture in Kyungsoo’s hands is the picture of innocence. Sweet, unadulterated, childlike innocence. Two young boys under a tree on a spring day, reading and having a snack, completely unaware of the world’s cruelty and ruthlessness.

“That was a good day. Sometimes I find myself missing your grandpa’s honeycakes, you know?” Kyungsoo’s low voice reverberates in the stillness of the living room. He looks at Jongin from over his shoulder, a hint of a smile playing upon his lips. Is he trying to lighten the mood? Has he been so good at dealing with his pain that what happened to them is barely a distant memory now? He doesn’t miss what they were, because he hasn’t been living his life in hope of rewriting the past, as dumb a wish as it sounds. Jongin gets it.

“There must be a recipe around here somewhere. I could try to make them?” He thanks the heavens for an excuse to draw back from Kyungsoo as he goes to grab the cookbook from the bookcase. The pages are yellow and they smell like dust, but the memories they hold are far too precious to be discarded. Jongin takes it back to the table and sits down, rapidly scanning his grandfather’s neat and angular writing for the right recipe. Kyungsoo puts the picture back where it belongs and joins Jongin in the kitchen. He takes a seat beside him and grabs the glass, raising it up to his lips without actually drinking it. Nose in the pages, Jongin misses the quirk of his thick eyebrows.

“When did you pick up baking?”

Jongin wills his mouth to smile, still not looking at Kyungsoo. “I haven’t.”

A scoff reaches his ears, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees Kyungsoo shaking his head. “That’s so you, honestly.”

Jongin’s smile dies on his lips. He stills for a moment, eyes darting up to meet Kyungsoo’s, then resumes browsing through the cookbook when the stare gets too intense. Everything is always so intense with Kyungsoo, Jongin almost can’t deal with it. “What do you mean?” He purposely keeps his eyes glued to the pages, lest he ends up drowning in the dark, deep waters of the young priest’s gaze.

“You are resourceful. If you put your mind to something, you can almost certainly do it.” He rests a hand on Jongin’s forearm, effectively stopping the flapping of the dusty pages. A searing touch, even through the fabric, that has Jongin looking right at him, this time simply unable to tear his eyes away. “You can do anything, Jongin.”

The unspoken words soon become too heavy, and Jongin’s head starts spinning out of nowhere. He vaguely remembers having slept for like three hours, tops. It’s still early morning, it can’t be later than 9, and maybe he can pretend to go back to sleep later when he’s done running in circles here with Kyungsoo. Groceries can wait. Life can wait.

“Jongin, we need to talk about what happened.”

Kyungsoo’s hand squeezes his forearm, snapping him back into the one-sided conversation. Right. No way in hell was he going to let that go. Jongin can feel the tears resurface, and he hates his weak self. He fucking hates that Kyungsoo is wrong, that he can’t do anything at all.

“You’re wrong, Soo. I can’t do shit.” There’s no bite to his words, not really, even though he meant to sound even a little bit flippant. Truth is, he’s just tired.

“It’s you who’s wrong. It takes time, of course, but you _can_ do it.” Kyungsoo moves his hand to grab Jongin’s shoulder, as if he wants to shake him out of his negative fixation. His words are turning fervent, like the fact that Jongin doesn’t believe in himself enough to try really does bother him. “You still haven’t dealt with your pain, that much is evident. But hope is not lost, it never is.”

Jongin wants to believe him, desperately and completely, but this exchange reminds him too much of his therapist. She always talked about the whole “stages of grief” thing, and one day she told him that he was clearly stuck in complete denial and simply unable (or unwilling) to move on, and that he needed to snap out of it. Of course Jongin stopped going to therapy after that. And now Kyungsoo is prying the ugly wound open, using nothing but his soft touch.

Jongin doesn’t reply for what seems a long time. He hopes Kyungsoo will give up eventually, give up and get up and go back to his church where people actually believe what he says. As if he doesn’t know him well enough to know he’s not a quitter.

“Jongin, please don’t shut me out.” The hand moves again, without warning, and it’s like Kyungsoo hesitates for a bit. It’s like he’s not sure if he’s pushing boundaries, or breaking them, or if there are any to begin with. His eyes are almost fearful in the muted, natural light of the kitchen, and all Jongin can do is sit there, glass of water still on the table in front of him, untouched. Only when Kyungsoo’s hand goes to rest on the side of his head does he avert his eyes, too choked up to keep up the charade.

“I can’t – can’t do this. I can’t, I can’t. Soo, I just-” He drops his head low and huffs out a big breath to stop the flow of chopped words that are leaving his mouth in a incoherent rush. This can’t be happening again, he tells himself. Kyungsoo will think he’s still a kid or something (he won’t, but it’s always so easy for Jongin to chastise himself that sometimes he forgets what’s true and what’s not). Didn’t he come back with a purpose? Or at least that’s what he used to think, before finding out that certain things could never be fixed.

Kyungsoo scoots closer and lowers down to Jongin’s level, the air around them growing even more intimate than before.

“Come on, Jongin, breathe with me. Deep breaths. Like this.” Patiently, sweetly, Kyungsoo helps Jongin breathe right again. There’s always been such a stark contrast between them: rush against calm, bitterness against tenderness, sun against moon, day against night. Jongin can’t help thinking that they could be so good together, so complete in the presence of each other, if only things were different. 

“You say you can’t do anything, but the fact that you’re here tells me otherwise.” The ever-present hand on his hair moves slowly, stroking bits of bad thoughts away from Jongin’s heavy head. “You came back. It means you want to do something about it.” Kyungsoo talks softly, in rhythm with the clock above the stove that ticks second after second, without haste, precise and reliable. “If you think you can’t do it on your own, I want you to remember that you are not alone. Do you understand me?” A small nod seems to be enough for Kyungsoo, prompting him to go on. “I want to help you, but you have to let yourself be helped.”

Jongin is positive nothing good will come out of this. Does Kyungsoo intend to use his beliefs to try and heal his troubled mind, despite being aware of Jongin’s deep dislike for anything related to religion? But more importantly, how can Kyungsoo help him, while at the same time being the main reason for his distress? Jongin decides he’s going to leave all of these questions for another time, and just indulge in the precious moments of right now.

Every deep, steady breath he takes seems to clear his head, so he breathes. For now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> The city of Suncheon and the village of Mokchon both exist, I just took some (a lot of) liberties in describing the surroundings.


End file.
